NEW RELEASES
Just So You Know . . . we’re pleased it’s Friday, pleased as punch.
Just So You Know . . . buying a smart phone means the phone is smart, not you, just the phone . . .
Fabulous animation
It’s an animated steampunk duel!
So cute. Watch all the way to the end. I love it.
Just So You Know . . . the Quill Sisters live on the edge, the very edge, we eat raw cookie dough.
Just So You Know . . . talking on your cell phone in a bathroom stall is not multi tasking, it’s just gross.
Just So You Know . . . there are plans to clone a wooly mammoth, we’re already in line for ours and we preordered the Louis Vuitton wooly mammoth carrier.
National Pretzel Day – April 26th!
It came to our attention this week that we missed National Cherry Cheesecake Day – April 23rd. We have absolutely no
idea how this happened. You’d think if there was one thing you could count on it would be that we’d be on top of this.
Regrettably, no. And with the week we’ve had, cheesecake would have been very welcome. We had sick kids and hideous employers and all kinds of wretchedness that could have been alleviated a great deal by cherry cheesecake. We had to make an emergency bakery run for cookies on Tuesday.
We’d really like to promise that we won’t miss anything this important again, but it’s highly likely that we’ll get distracted by something shiny and miss Macaroon Day (May 31st) or National Ice Cream Sandwich Day (August 2nd). We found a cheat sheet.
We’ll do our best. We know what’s important.
In Our Humble Opinion . . . it’s impossible to resist the siren song of bakery cookies.
Just So You Know . . . sarcasm was not invented by the Quill Sisters, only perfected.
Jeez, where do I begin?
“You know what I wish I had?” Sassy asked while we were laying in bed snuggling for a few minutes tonight.
“No, what?” I asked. This could be anything. A musk ox? Pink seashells? Hepatitis? She’s eight. She has lots of fanciful ideas.
“A water-bed.”
“You don’t want one of those,” I told her. “They’re a pain.”
“How do you know?” she asked, her tone accusatory and speculative at the same time. Like she didn’t believe that I’d know and would now make up some wild, bullshit answer.
“I’ve had water-beds.” I lived through the seventies and eighties. There were beds with water.
“Why haven’t you told me this?” Now she’s really accusatory. “You didn’t think I needed to know?”
Jesus, like I told her she was adopted or her father and I are Russian spies or that she isn’t a real girl, just a wooden puppet.
“I am certain there are lots of things I haven’t told you about the first thirty-three years of my life on this Earth prior to your birth that you’ll find fascinating at some point in your life.”
She sat up in her bed and glared at me in the darkness. “Like what, exactly?” she demanded.
“I don’t know.” I wrinkled my brow and might have even flinched a little. She was giving me stage fright.
“Well, you think about it.” She settled back on her mattress and crossed her arms. “I’ll expect a list tomorrow.”